Beware the Unspoken
by Raffi Issagholian
Summary: Story of Mortanius the Necromancer, from 500 years ago to the end of Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain.
1. Default Chapter

Beware The Unspoken  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Do not fight me," the voice boomed. "You are doomed to fail, Mortanius"  
Mortanius, the Guardian of the Pillar of Death, the Necromancer, perhaps the most powerful sorcerer in all of Nosgoth, huddled in a corner deep in the Abyss. He could feel the alien being inside his mind, slowly taking control of him. Despite all of the spells in his repertoire, despite all the knowledge that he had come to gain over the many centuries of his tenure as the Pillar of Death, Mortanius trembled as he replied to the voice.  
"Fall silent, foul demon!" Mortanius desperately hoped that his bravado would fool the creature within, though he was unable to convince even himself. "I will cleanse myself of your taint and serve Nosgoth as I was selected to!"  
"Serve Nosgoth?" The creature's laugh echoed within the caverns of his mind. "Have you learned nothing in all the centuries that you have been the Guardian of Death? Has your mind been so concerned with this pit in which you reside that you are unable to see the world above?" He could feel the voice's power emanating from within.  
"I will not be swayed by your lies, beast!" Everything Mortanius knew to be true and just told him that this creature was a plague upon his mind and must be fought with all the strength in his possession. "Cease your foolishness, you pathetic wretch, and leave my mind!"  
"No! No! My Lords, please! Forgive me! Forgive me!"  
For a brief moment, Mortanius allowed himself to believe that he had defeated the demon, that it had left him with pleas for mercy. It took him another moment to finally place the voice, though it was more beaten than he had ever remembered it: the righteous tone and the mighty Malek, last of the Sarafan Sorcerer-Priests and the greatest of that Order. The Sarafan, created by several members of the Circle of Nine who felt that the Vampires were an unholy scourge upon the land, and needed to be forever purged from the land. The Vampire Purges had taken hundreds of thousands of lives, and yet for some reason it was upheld as an example of purity in the world.  
Mortanius frowned. A Vampire's soul did not enter into his abode; however, as the Pillar of Death, Mortanius felt almost as if he were the Patron Saint of Vampires, and had argued long and hard against the Vampire Purges, to no effect. The Sarafan, and even the Guardians who founded them, were as bloodthirsty as the Vampires themselves, if not even more so. For some reason, Mortanius couldn't help but respect the Vampires, who had been in existence since before Mortanius had taken up his role as the Necromancer, all those many centuries ago. He still remembered the "slaying" of the Vampire known as Janos Audren. Audren had even spoken to Mortanius many years ago, when Mortanius was newly risen to his position as the Pillar of Death after being raised by the remaining 8 members of the Circle of Nine.  
"Remember, Guardian, that, beyond all else, balance is necessary in the world," the angel-winged Vampire had told the young Necromancer, who still resembled a human being at the time. Thus, despite all that the rest of the Pillars may do, the Pillar of Balance can undo them all with but the will. The purpose of the Circle of Nine is to serve Nosgoth, and this is not always achieved by the obvious means. Look beyond, Necromancer, and never forget your debt to this great land."  
Mortanius recalled hearing of Janos' death several weeks ago at the hands of Malek's Sarafan brothers, headed by the Grand Inquisitor Raziel. The bodies of the Sarafan Priests were found soon after, slain and drained of blood. At the same time, the Vampire Vorador had attacked the Sarafan Keep, where several of the Circle of Nine were monitoring the progress of their holy warriors. Despite the fact that it was his own brothers and sisters that had fallen to the Vampire Champion's vengeful attack, Mortanius could feel nothing but sorrow for Vorador, who had lost everyone whom he had ever loved. Likewise, he could feel nothing but hatred for the cold-hearted Sarafan who butchered the Vampires. It was here that Mortanius made a terrible mistake.  
He suddenly heard deep, dark laughter, echoing everywhere within his mind. Too late, Mortanius saw his error: in thinking so much of outside events, his mental defenses had faltered just long enough to allow his inner demon to attack. Even now, as he hastily attempted to put up mental blocks, he could feel the creature everywhere, rushing through his mind like a flood of evil. His arms shot up and pushed his body off the ground, and in horror, Mortanius realized that he could no longer control them.  
"Cease your fighting, fool," the beast laughed. "It shall do you absolutely no good. Now, sit back, and witness the opening scene of my theatre of Grand Guignol!"  
  
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The Necromancer Mortanius walked to the edge of the cliff overviewing Malek's tortured form, deep in the Abyss. The proud Paladin looked up in horror as the skeletal form of the Pillar of Death stared down at him. Strangely, Mortanius seemed enhanced, with a powerful aura stronger than any Malek had sensed before. Worse, the aura had a taint of evil about it. Malek then spotted another form beside the Lord of the Abyss, and nearly shouted: it was Moebius, the Guardian of the Pillar of Time. As the two began speaking, Malek forced himself to calm down and hear the conversation as he silently worked at the locks that bound him over this pit. He had heard rumors that the other six Sorcerer-Priests had fallen: the Crusader Melchiah, the Templar Zephon, the Archbishop Rahab, the Avenger Dumah, Turel the Judicator Turel, even his old friend Raziel the Grand Inquisitor. If this was true, then he, Malek, the Paladin, was the last ranking Sarafan within the Order, and if he fell, then the Order itself and their Divine Mission would fall into obscurity. Besides, Malek frowned, that last unholy worm who had defeated him would have to pay.  
"And you are sure that he will remain the Pillar, Mortanius?" the Time-Streamer asked.  
"Yes."  
"This is very important, Necromancer! We will not be able to raise seven children to become Pillars of Nosgoth. The Pillar must continue to recognize him."  
"It shall."  
Who were the two speaking of? Malek could barely hide his pure hatred for the Time-Streamer. The old man had forced him to stay behind and guard a twisted freak while the blasted bald Vampire murdered the Pillars of Nosgoth! It was Moebius, not him; why, then, had he been dragged down to Mortanius' abode and chained? Why was his armor fully fasted in front of him? What was happening?  
"My Lords! Please! I have served you well! I did as I was told! Please, listen to me!"  
Moebius stepped away as the Necromancer turned to the bound Sarafan.  
"Silence!" The echo of the command sounded for several long seconds before finally fading away.  
"For failing the Circle, Malek of the Sarafan, you are hereby damned!"  
Suddenly, Malek's skin began to tremble violently, and begin to rapidly age. In one blinding instant of pain, he felt his insides rupture and his muscles atrophy beyond any resemblance of humanity. As he opened his mouth to utter a scream, Malek, Paladin and greatest of the Sarafan, felt his soul leave his crumbling body. A bright light flashed before him, and Malek felt certain that this was the entrance to Paradise, that he was being rewarded for the trials that he had had to endure. He began to rise...  
"The pleasures of the flesh are no longer yours."  
With a gradual arc, Malek began to descend back into the darkness. He tried to fight the pull of the Necromancer's magic and return to the gates of Paradise, but was helpless against the sorcery of the Pillar of Death. In this moment of fear, Malek finally noticed his armor, still before him...  
"You have but one purpose, damned warrior."  
Malek felt unholy pain, as his soul, once nestled within his beautiful body, now was fused to the metallic skin of his armor. The rune-filled plate mail, once a symbol of his piety, now surrounded him like a prison. Malek pushed, but he could not force his soul to leave his cell. He realized that his pike was in his "hand," and could not drop the weapon. Slowly, he looked around him, beginning to understand just how damned he was...  
"You will serve us for eternity." 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Aurelius. The pride of Vasserbunde. One of the greatest defenders of Nosgoth. He was a Knight in the court of King Frederick of Stahlberg, and had been given command of a platoon of troops during a battle against the Ward and his minions. He and his soldiers were riding through a forest when dozens of armored troops leapt at them from the surrounding cover. Surprised and overwhelmed, his men had no chance. Sir Aurelius of Vasserbunde, heir to the noble house, had fallen to a simple ambush. He was forced to watch as each of his men were impaled upon their own blades. He was about to give in to the weakness and bloodloss when a figure in a red robe seemed to appear out of the darkness. The being had large, pointed ears and no hair at all. Strangest of all, it appeared that it had dark green skin. The Ward troopers hesitated for a moment before attacking the figure. They would not live to regret it.  
The figure seemed to move on air, dodging blades while his own weaved in and out like a sewing needle. His strange, flamebridged sword darted into one of the minions, going through him as if the steel were butter. Three of them leapt at the figure, who seemed to become absolutely nothing. The troopers collided with eachother, and as they fell, the figure re-appeared, quickly dispatching them all. The remaining troopers turned to run, and the figure appeared to let them go as he turned to Aurelius.  
"You are dying."  
Aurelius attempted to nod, but could not summon the strength. The creature lifted its arm, and swiped at its wrist with a strange clawed hand. Blood dripped onto Aurelius' face. Cold blood.  
"You are... a Vampire!" the dying Knight whispered.  
"Mortal, you have not the time for a philosophical dilemma."  
As the Vampire's blood seeped into Aurelius' wounds, the noble Knight could feel strange strength rising within him. Soon, the Vampire turned, and held his hand over a dead soldier of Aurelius' command, a 16 year old lad from Stahlberg who had spoken often about the girl he wished to marry. Aurelius watched in horror as the young lad's wounds began to tremble. Suddenly, a thick stream of blood erupted from the boy's mangled chest and flew directly into the monster's open mouth. This grisly scene went on for a few more seconds before the stream ended and the Vampire turned.  
"You must feed, fledgling."  
Aurelius shook his head.  
"Not on my men. Not on anyone! Demon! Why did you curse me so?!"  
The beast sighed.  
"I shall never know what Master Janos saw in you cattle. Why do you speak to me so? Did I not save your life when it was forfeit? Did I kill your men? I fed on one who was already dead. Do you not also feed on slain creatures?"  
"Do not twist words with me, monster! You robbed me of Paradise!"  
"Die then, if you so wish. Return to your friends and loved ones, and watch them murder you without a second thought."  
The Vampire turned and vanished down the forest trail, leaving Aurelius alone. He knew that the monster was right, that King Frederick would never accept him back. Damn that Vampire! He had been robbed of his birthright. Robbed!  
The Knight stood up and looked down at his chest. There had been a deep gash, where the enemy's axe had bit into him. Now, however, the wound was healed and, even more shocking to him, his skin was almost completely plae. He was truly a Vampire. Aurelius recoiled in horrorat this affirmation, and picked up his sword from where it had fallen when he had been defeated. He turned the sword around, held the blade to his abdomen, and, uttering a prayer, impaled himself.  
Aurelius had always believed that Vampires felt no pain, and died instantly when impaled. He had believed that those who are walking corpses feel nothing. He discovered that this theory was seriously flawed. Pain ripped through his entire body, and his knees buckled. He found just enough strength to pull the sword from his body before collapsing to the earth. He felt a horrible constriction in his throat, and his tongue shriveled from thirst.  
He needed blood.  
He had been so adamant about not feeding. Only moments before he practically swore that he would never drink the blood of another. He had not been dying then. He opened his mouth, and felt a strange current of air entering into his throat. He inhaled slightly, as if preparing to take a breath, and suddely discovered that a thick stream of human blood was jetting into his mouth.  
It was delicious.  
Never before had he tasted anything so exquisite. It tasted of beef and boar, mead and wine. He felt as a newborn, hungrily suckling on a mother's teat for more rick milk. He stood up as his strength returned, still feeding. When the stream finished, he kept his mouth open and eyes closed, reveling in the taste of the blood and the strength it brought. He opened his eyes and saw that he had fed upon his lieutenant, a brave man who died trying to defend him. Died trying being the operative words, he grimaced.  
Aurelius turned and began to feed on another fallen soldier, not bothering to check if he were friend or foe. As fresh blood surged through his veins, he could feel strength inside him, the likes of which he had never experienced.The taste was dizzying; it was a wonder that the Vampires did not kill hundreds each night! How they controlled themselves was beyond him. As he fed, he realized that if people allowed Vampires to feed on their newly dead, there would be no more atacks. The selfishness of Humans forced his kind to feed on the living. It took him a few moemnts to realize that he had referred to Vampires as "his kind."  
He took a seat and tried to remember what he knew of Vampires. The Sarafan taught that the Vampires were an unholy abomination and a murderous plague upon the land. Yet, try as he might, he could remember no more than three or four instances of Vampire attacks. More people were killed by other Humans in a single week in Vasserbunde than had been slain by Vampires in his entire life. When he thought of how many Vampires were killed by Humans, he shuddered. Vasserbunde alone had put at least two thousand of them to the sword, many impaled in large killing fields amongst hundreds of their brethren.  
Aurelius had believed that Vampires were evil. He had always been taught that they were completely evil. But he was not evil' neither, apparently, was the one who had saed him. The Knight-turned-night dweller pondered this as he picked up his sword. He would have to find that other Vampire. Then... then, he could decide what to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Note: Everything in this Chapter is designed as is. Please don't think that there was a mistake made until you FINISH the Chapter. Thank you.  
  
A robed figure hobbled through the forest, clutching a staff for support. He walked with a slight stoop, taking his time, not realizing that his journey was being watched. Radell's Raiders, as the brigands were called, spied on the old man, waiting until he reached a perfect ambush spot. The attack would come so suddenly that the old man would have no time to react. Just as Radell liked it.  
Since the deaths of the Sarafan leaders, the Order of the Sarafan had greatly diminished. That allowed groups like his Raiders to take advantage of the chaos. The Vampire hysteria was so high that if a person vanished, the undead monsters were immediately blamed. All the easier for him.  
Radell whistled and leapt out of the foliage, his men following suit. The brigand leader rushed the old man, swinging his sword right at his nec  
A robed figure hobbled through the forest, clutching a staff for support. He walked with a slight stoop, taking his time, not realizing that his journey was being watched. Radell's Raiders, as the brigands were called, spied on the old man, waiting until he reached a perfect ambush spot. The attack would come so suddenly that the old man would have no time to react. Just as Radell liked it.  
Since the deaths of the Sarafan leaders, the Order of the Sarafan had greatly diminished. That allowed groups like his Raiders to take advantage of the chaos. The Vampire hysteria was so high that if a person vanished, the undead monsters were immediately blamed. All the easier for him.  
Radell prepared to whistle when the old man suddenly hurled an orb of light into the bushes behind him. Radell heard one of his men scream, and gave the whistle order to attack. Another orb felled another Raider as Radell reached the old man. He lunged, aiming the point of his blade at the old man's ches  
A robed figure hobbled through the forest, clutching a staff for support. He walked with a slight stoop, taking his time, not realizing that his journey was being watched. Radell's Raiders, as the brigands were called, spied on the old man, waiting until he reached a perfect ambush spot. The attack would come so suddenly that the old man would have no time to react. Just as Radell liked it.  
Radell stopped in mid-thought. His men always gave a quiet chirp when in position. He counted only seven chirps; he had nine men. He pondered this as the old man turned and calmly shot an orb of light into the forest, followed quickly by another one aime a little to the left of the original. Radell froze, shocked, hearing two distinct screams as the man shot more orbs. When Radell regained his senses, he swung his crossbow off his shoulder. Although the brigand preferred to kill up close, he aimed at the old man's heart and fired. The bolt flew through the air, ripping through the robe and pierc  
A robed figure hobbled through the forest, clutching a staff for support. He walked with a slight stoop, taking his time, not realizing that his journey was being watched. Radell's Raiders, as the brigands were called, spied on the old man, waiting until he reached a perfect ambush spot. The attack would come so suddenly that the old man would have no time to react. Just as Radell liked it.  
Radell's train of thought halted as the old man stopped. Strange that he hadn't noticed before that the old man was carrying a large sack. The figure turned to face him directly and emptied the sack. Radell froze as small, melon-sized spheres fell out. Does the old man see me, he thought quickly. Then he realized that none of his men had given the chirp. Radell came out of his hiding spot, dumbfounded, as he counted the spheres. Nine spheres.  
Nine missing men.  
Radell stumbled to the first sphere as it looked up at him. It was covered in blood, but he clearly recognized the nose, broken in a tavern brawl in Nachtholm, and the various scars. His brother's bloody head. He looked over the rest of the spheres; they all were heads. Radell collapsed to his knees, dazed, as the figure summoned an orb of light.  
  
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As he left the forest, Moebius scowled at the tear in the front of his robe. This little entertainment had almost cost him dearly. Damn brigand, he thought. He had not expected, and had not noticed, a crossbow, and was almost struck. The Pillar of Time sighed. He was getting careless in his old age; if only he could see his own future, he would tell if it would ever be the death of him. 


End file.
